Locked Rooms and Liquor Bottles
by Fleeting words
Summary: John Winchester was a a good dad. He tried. But there were nights when he was drunk and frustrated and Dean was on the receiving end. #WeeChesters


"Dean, no!" Sam complained

Dean stood with his arms crossed leaning against the door, "Sammy..." He pleaded, "Just for tonight? You need the rest"

"Why do you always do this?" Sam pouted as Dean rolled his eyes. _Don't look at him! Don't look at those eyes! _He told himself as he avoided eye contact with his twelve year old brother.

Sam was sick, he had the flu which meant that Dean had to stay home and take care of him. Not that he minded that. It had always been Dean's job and, quite frankly, he liked it.

But that also meant that Dad had to go hunting alone.

Now, not every hunt is all that successful...

It rarely happened, but if John Winchester ever screwed up a job, it would end up bad ... Not just for him but for the boys as well.

He would down bottle after bottle till he passed out and then the hangover would be just terrible, the slightest of noise would send jolts to his head, he would obviously take that frustration out on the boys.

Now that was when the boys got lucky.

There were times when he would be pissed and drunk and Dean knew to stay out of John's way.

Now was one of those days.

Dad came back and he was angry so he just went to his room, slamming the door on his way in.

Dean took Sam to Their room and locked them in. Dad had to stay out.

He gave Sam his medication making sure that he would fall asleep easy.

Sure, John beat Dean up pretty bad at times but no way in hell was he going to lay a hand on Sam.

"Dean, why?" He asked

"Sam, you haven't been feeling well, the sooner you get better, the sooner we get out of this place. Now shut up and get in bed" Dean ordered, turning off the lights.

He sat down on the opposite bed and heaved a sigh. Sam never saw John during these days ... Dean made sure of it. Sam still considered his dad a hero.

Dean was just confused. Yeah John saved lives and sure he wanted the best for his boys but he was hard on Dean.

More of a drill sergeant than a dad.

Dean bore it all. He stood up straight every single morning ... Just for Sam.

His baby brother would never see Dean as weak.

Dean would be strong, he would take care of him and he would be his hero.

There were nights when Dean couldn't stay in bed, when he got hungry or had to get Sam something to eat so he would have to face his father.

Almost as if on cue, his stomach growled. He rolled off bed and tiptoed to the door, glancing at Sam, who was snoring peacefully, and unlocked the door.

He winced as the door creaked loudly.

John was passed out on the couch, beer bottle in hand, snoring loudly.

Dean made way to the fridge and fished out leftovers. He sat down on the counter and began eating as quietly as possible.

...

Dean knelt in front of the door, gasping for breath. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and it came back bloody.

His face stung from where his dad hit him and he clearly split his lip.

He never asked John to stop. He always fought till his last breath. He fought until John gave up.

John let out a laugh, he took another swig from his bottle, "Sammy, though ... " he began

"Don't! Don't you dare say a word about him! He is just 12, dad!"

"He is weak, pathetic -"

"Dad, no!" He cut him off.

"But that boy has brains. I love him I do but he can be a real pain in the ass some times. So damn annoying... I have hopes for him though... You?" He shook his head, "nah."

Dean's eyes widened at what his dad just said.

"Come on, Dean! Fight a little!" he taunted.

John drew his hand back as if to strike Dean and watched him flinch. A tear made way down the sixteen year olds cheek and John hit him hard.

Dean's legs gave way beneath him; he tried to get up but was kicked back down. John went to his room, "pathetic, worthless" he said as he closed the door.

Dean stayed on the ground, tears flowing.

_Stop crying you worthless little –_

His thoughts were interrupted by a pair of arms being wrapped around him. Dean opened his eyes. Sam sat there in front of him, his arms wrapped around Dean.

"Okay, Sammy. Get off me you girl." Dean ordered after a while, his voice hoarse.

"Dude, you're bleeding"

"No shit, Sherlock. Now get off me." Dean pushed him off and went back to the kitchen to wash off the blood.

Now Dean really did feel pathetic. He let Sam see what happened.

"Dad did all that?" Sam's voice small.

Dean bit his lip, sighing as he made his decision, "Yeah."

"So, sometimes when you lock our door early at night is-"

Dean nodded, "it's to make sure he keeps his hands off you."

"Why you?" he sounded hurt

"He just gets really frustrated and drunk and sometimes, he just does." Dean explained

"How many time has it happened, Dean?"

Dean turned to look at his younger brother's sad, wide, concerned eyes. He leaned against the counter, closing his eyes, thinking about all the times it happened, "five, Sammy."

"Oh."

And Dean knew that Sam wasn't going to ask any more questions. He was going to turn the events of the night over and over in his head until he went insane.

...

Sam woke up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes; he noticed that all of his things were packed. His backpack lay at the foot of the bed, the rest of the room bare. They were leaving.

He went outside after getting dressed. He stopped outside John's room. He heard his voice.

"Dean, I'm sorry." John sounded pained.

Sam knew what Dean was doing, sitting there, arms crossed, grunting in response.

"I know what I did. I'm sorry. I didn't have any control-"

"Control, Dad? Are you freaking kidding me!? This has happened more than once, who knows next time you might hurt Sam! Or kill me!" The anger in his voice was clear, "Either you learn to control or you stop drinking!"

"Son-"

"Don't dad! Don't worry about me! I'm going to be fine. The bruises will be gone soon enough. But Sam saw! And he hates you right now. You fix this, or he will -" He yelled, pausing, "Some scars just don't fade!"

There was complete silence.

…...

John glanced at the rearview mirror. Dean insisted on sitting in the back with Sam. The boys were both asleep.

Maybe Sam wasn't. He just didn't want to talk to John.

John sighed as Dean's words kept running through his mind.

_He saw, Dad!_

_He hates you right now!_

_You might hurt Sam!_

_Or kill me…_

_I'll be fine._

John ran a hand through his hair. His vision got blurry.

_Mary would hate me too._

A tear made way down his cheek and dripped off his chin.

He glanced up in the mirror again, in time to see that his youngest, was watching. Those round hazel eyes, watching.

_My own kids hate me._

_John Winchester … What have you done?_


End file.
